BAD DAD

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I started off my career as a father by going to jail on the very same night that my first child was born. It was on a hot, steamy August night in 1972. I was minding my own business , sitting on the sidelines of a neighborhood football game where I was supposed to be playing; a star wide receiver, who was so high on heroin, I was banned from playing. Well, I actually didn’t care because I would rather nod than catch passes. Plus, I never truly believed that the team I played for from Piedmont Courts could beat the North Charlotte Bears, the team my oldest sister's brother, Buddy, played for. In fact, my "brother" played on the same high school team with Dwight Clark, who later became famous for catching the winning pass from Joe Montana in a SuperBowl. Nonetheless, at some point during the game, but shortly before half-time, My girlfriend’s youngest brother, came flying out of the darkness on his bike, yelling that I should get to the hospital right away.

Without even giving that ominous announcement any real thought, I knew precisely what it meant, and what it signified more than anything else was that my life had just changed dramatically! In addition to all the things I already was at nineteen years old, I was about to earn another label to my pedigree: DADDY! At nineteen, I was black, poor, a high-school dropout, unemployed, and an ex-convict. Unfazed by my unfortunate credentials, I was not exactly certain if fatherhood would be a cure or a curse. Either way, the moment was now upon me.

Within a matter of seconds, I had a ride, and a carload of us departed Alexander Street Park, headed to Charlotte Memorial Hospital to help me usher my brand new child into America. I went to jail because while on the way to the hospital to greet the birth of my daughter, I decided to have my friend to pull over at a corner grocery store in the hood to buy some cigars. After all, in all the movies I had ever seen, that’s what men did. They bought and passed out cigars to their friends to celebrate the birth of their newborn child. Maybe, I shouldn’t have stopped. However, I did.

As luck would have it, even though I was only in the store a very short time, it was more than enough time for the police to harass my friends. Seeing the predicament as a case of police brutality, I rushed out of store on Parkwood Avenue, and over to the car where I proceeded to tell the police that “I knew the law” and that it would be best for them if they just left us alone. In a world of justice and equality, that very well should have marked the end of the whole affair, but it didn’t. In fact, the police seemed angered by my boldness and proceeded to club the shit out of me. After a brief but violent confrontation, I was carted off to jail, pitched into the drunk tank with all the other inebriated folks, and charged with disorderly conduct.

In the drunk tank, there were no beds so everyone had to sleep on the cold, concrete floor. They didn’t give you any food. They didn’t give you any sheets or blankets. In fact, they didn’t give you shit, but it was peaceful and serene in a haunted house sort of way; a cell filled with drunken strangers snoring and passing gas without shame or regret. Now, decades later, upon reflection, I guess this was a classic example of how drugs warp your mind because what in the hell was comforting about being locked up in a cage that reeked of vomit and bad breath.

Anyway ,the next morning I was taken before the Judge who released me once I explained my situation and recounted the birth of my first-born child, but somehow I knew that I had missed a very important moment in the life of my little girl .Embarrassed that I had not been there to see my daughter the night before, I postponed going to visit her until a few days later. That turned out to be a tragic blunder.

By some cruel twist of fate, It was around this time in 1972 that I embarked on a bank-robbing spree, and before my baby could celebrate her first birthday, I was locked away in federal prison with 30 years. I would be gone for 10.

Once released, I remember how nervous I was when I went to visit my daughter. I searched my mind for something that would allow me to make a good first impression on a little girl who knew more about the visiting hours in jail than she knew about what time Sesame Street came on. This child of mine had probably seen the insides of more prisons than she had classrooms, and it had always pained me to think how my daughter must have hated me on those ever-occurring days in school when the students had to stand before the class and announce just what it was that their fathers did for a living. Even though some of the other students may have had a dad that was a garbage-man or one who worked in a fish market, my daughter was probably the only child who on “Career Day” had a dad who was locked up. Wow, that must have been traumatizing.

Anyway, on the night of my tenth year of being missing in action from my daughter’s life, I stood in the darkness outside the house when she lived with her mother, afraid. If this would have been the home of one of my partners, I would have strolled into the house and would have been given a hero’s welcome. After all, here I was, a young nigga, who had just spent a whole decade in the joint, taking everything the white man had thrown at me, and I had survived. Even if it had been the home of a potential girlfriend, I would have known precisely what to have done, but that was not the case. I was about to meet my daughter, and quite frankly, I had no idea of what to say or do.

In prison, I had been tutored by some of the most brilliant minds in the criminal world about how to commit any crime I chose. I had been schooled in how to seduce women, and how to defeat my enemies, but there was not a mumbling word said by any of the jail-house scholars about how to be a great daddy. Basically, I was on my own, and to my regret, I found nothing in my background that would provide me with the instructions needed to be a daddy.

I was a man who had conducted countless shady deals in numerous back alleys in the darkest hours of the night. I had been in a couple of shootouts with the police. I had robbed banks and had come up a winner more than once when death was on my tail, but I knew that being a daddy would be my biggest challenge. What was even more scary was the fact that none of the qualities that had made me a well-respected gangsta in the streets or that had allowed me to survive in some of the toughest prisons in the country would make me a good daddy. And guess what….I wasn’t

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If you were 19 back in '72 that would put you in your 60s today; I used to live in North Carolina......what was it like back in the 50s and 60s especially with regard to the Black community in bigger cities like Raleigh and Charlotte?

Also, I'm not going to ask you anything that would incriminate you further but did you experience any spiritual or supernatural events during your criminal or violent activities like a spirit of a victim coming back to haunt you or an "angel" coming to your rescue ?

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I know you are not seeking sympathy@Gibran but that was such a sad story. How is you first born daughter doing today?

Is this also from your latest book. I'll excerpt it in my next newsletter it it is.

@Pioneer1 I know Raleigh, NC pretty well and have have going there all of my life.

Thx, Brotha Troy, for asking because I'm proud to announce that my oldest daughter is a professor at a university in Florida. In fact, she just got the position last September. She is also a psychologist and hosts the Black Mental Health Symposium every fall. (I will be the keynote speaker this year). My youngest daughter is a teacher as well. Both write. The oldest daughter is published.

I never told either of my girls, but I used to pray that they would not be boys because I was so fearful that if I had sons, they would end up in and out of prison. I felt my family would have a better chance with raising girls in my absence rather than boys.

No, that was not from my book. It was from my "unpublished" autobiography. From time to time, I will share because if nothing else, it is a great reminder of "what not to do"

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@GibranIs Gibran your given surname or are you a fan of "The Prophet?" I was curious as to how you acquired you excellent writing skills but it obviously runs in your family.

Yes, I am a fan of Khalil Gibran. When I was in the joint in the early 70s, he was extremely popular, and all the so-called enlightened "jailhouse" scholars were into his books. When I legally changed my name, I adopted Kahlil, but there were so many guys running around the joint calling themselves by that name, that I opted for Gibran. I dug his poetry, but his love letters to his lady friend. I think her name was Mary. I remember in one letter he told her that her letters "had opened up a new era in his life." Wow...I was too through when I peeped that. Women have no earthly idea what they can inspire man to say and/or do!

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Women have no earthly idea what they can inspire man to say and/or do!

Well, that takes up some of the slack when it comes to black men leaving something to be desired when it comes to defending their woman. At least their hearts are in the right place. Men have no idea how pliable women become in the hands of a man who considers her his inspiration. Too bad brothas and sistas can't get on the same page. BTW, I am also a fan of Khalil Gibran

Another poster on this board by the name of "Nubian Fellow" observed that white supremacy endures because of the inferiority of black behavior. I agree with this. You have refined this idea by pointing out how Europeans were able to manipulate and program the minds of blacks. I agree with this too. This is why I believe black folks have to individually figure out a way to circumvent racism and work The System by getting in where they fit in. To some, this is blasphemy. So the "black unity" mantra drones on in a country where institutionalized racism is firmly in place. .

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That was a very compelling story bro.﻿
I have a few questions for you.

If you were 19 back in '72 that would put you in your 60s today; I used to live in North Carolina......what was it like back in the 50s and 60s especially with regard to the Black community in bigger cities like Raleigh and Charlotte?

Also, I'm not going to ask you anything that would incriminate you further but did you experience any spiritual or supernatural events during your criminal or violent activities like a spirit of a victim coming back to haunt you or an "angel" coming to your rescue ?

That is a good question, and yes, I did experience a lot of spiritual transformation while inside. The thing about prison is that it exposes just how vulnerable and frail we can sometimes be, and in that lowly condition, one is ripe for spiritual conversion. When you are in prison, and you are entirely cut off from civilization, and you are hemmed in on all sides by violence and stupidity , you need something to believe in. Every prisoner needs a savior and when none of the manufactured ones work, they make up saviors of their own. For me, it was my belief in myself. I was a loner. Not many people in prison can fly solo and survive and it was this unwavering belief in myself that allowed me to face each and every day with the knowledge that somehow, someway, I was going to survive. Man, there were so many times that I just wanted to lie down and die, but felt that that would tarnish my image of myself---so I kept on pushing. The worst time in prison was when I served 10 years and 42 days for a crime I did not commit. That was torture. I was completely innocent, but I was faced with the obstacle of finding a way to remain sane day after day after day. I didn't really expect God to help me because He didn't stop it from happening to me, so what did I do: I wrote Oprah!

Yeah, I have been haunted, but not by any of my victims. I'm haunted by regret. With one or two exceptions, I have no regrets for what damage I have had to inflict on another human because I always acted in self-defense or in retaliation for a wrong done to me or someone I loved. I regret that I so terribly abused my life. I had this wonderful gift of life given to me and I fashioned it into a monstrosity that I'm ashamed of. Man, what could have been, but it is what it is. I got some of my war stories that I will post and it will give you some insight into what it is like to watch your life unravel right before your eyes, and despite knowing beeter, I didn't do enough to stop it. I almost single-handedly erased myself out of existence. Peace.

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@Gibran i would be interested in hearing your thoughts on this post below which i directed to you.

3 hours ago, Cynique said:

Another poster on this board by the name of "Nubian Fellow" observed that white supremacy endures because of the inferiority of black behavior. I agree with this. You have refined this idea by pointing out how Europeans were able to manipulate and program the minds of blacks. I agree with this too. This is why I believe black folks have to individually figure out a way to circumvent racism and work The System by getting in where they fit in. To some, this is blasphemy. So the "black unity" mantra drones on in a country where institutionalized racism is firmly in place. .

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@Gibran i would be interested in hearing your thoughts on this post below which i directed to you.

Over time, I have enjoyed shifting positions on this very question and it still is most complexing. Personally, I now subscribe to a view that is more fluid. I fully intend to be a player in whatever comes next in the evolution of us as a people, but I have reached a point where I can't stomach being a part of a group. Yet, as an individual,I realize just how my reach is limited. As a remedy, a compromise of sorts, is that I will remain individually committed to the collective, eagerly willing to align myself to whomever is going in the same direction that I am. In an earlier phase of my existence, i was indeed taught that "individualism" was blasphemy since the goal was unity. Even though locked up, I have never been removed from the struggle so I was as big a militant inside as anyone outside so I felt it was my duty to organize and to unify. Yet, unity has proven to be as equally elusive for us as equality has been. I soured on groups for many collapse into a cult of personality, so when i started to rob banks, it signaled a shift in my political viewpoint. I still believed in the revolution but now, I was attacking the white man from a different angle. I was taking his money, I reasoned, so I was hitting him where it hurt. Excuse me, back to your point. I am flexible. I will act as an individual when required, and participate with an unified group when necessary. However, at all times I will remain steadfast to the cause.

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I know Raleigh, NC pretty well and have have going there all of my life.

I haven't spent too much time in the Raleigh Durham area.
I've been through there and it looked pretty nice from what I've seen but a little on the small side.
Back when I was really interested in living Down South during the 80s and 90s I was looking at more of the bigger cities like Charlotte, Houston and Atlanta because I thought they had more to offer in terms of women and employment.

Gibran

Man.......
You seem to be one of those rare individuals who can say a LOT to me yet leave me speechless with nothing to say in return but rather THINK......and think deeply....about what you said, lol.

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But honestly, in the back of my mind, I keep thinking something is gonna set poor white folks off and they are gonna just start blasting away. There are WAY too many guns down here and too many people under stress.

Sure ATL and HOU have more sisters, but Tampa has plenty and I only need one or two 😉

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You're right, I noticed immediately that Caucasians in the South tend to be more violent than those in the North and definately more violent than those on the WestCoast. When I lived down there I would routinely see drunk Caucasian men....even blood relatives....fight eachother.

I haven't spent much time in Florida but I've heard there were a lot of fine Carribean sistaz down there from places like Barbados, Trinidad, Dominican Republic, Haiti, and other places.
Have you noticed this?

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When I lived down there I would routinely see drunk Caucasian men....even blood relatives....fight eachother.

@Pioneer1 Are you saying that you see 'drunk Caucasian men' fight each other and Caucasian blood relatives, like White brothers fight each other?

13 hours ago, Pioneer1 said:

I haven't spent much time in Florida but I've heard there were a lot of fine Carribean sistaz down there from places like Barbados, Trinidad, Dominican Republic, Haiti, and other places. Have you noticed this?

In Sanford and Orlando, there are a lot of Haitians... alot. But also, I don't know if Haitians and Carribeans are a part of the trend in Florida, but Homosexuality and Lesbianism is rampant amongst the Black people.

Homosexuality and Lesbianism is really significant in Florida. I was pretty surprised to see this, and it made me remember way back when, hearing about Florida and gay right protesting. BLACKS and GAY rights were always linked together... I think it is strange though,... why Florida? Why was Florida a hotspot back in the 60s for this issue, now fast forward... and here we are... under a law!!!---via a Black president. Go figure.

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Yeah parts of Florida is a gay haven (but what large city isn't). I was hanging out on Duval Street in Key West, FL this summer and accidentally walked into a gay roof-top bar. I was shocked to see dudes sun bathing and butt naked at the bar -- dicks and balls everywhere! I bid a hasty retreat LOL!

I went into another gay bar everyone was clothed and it was a very congenial atmosphere I ordered a drink (I was bar hopping) and chit-chatted a while.

@Pioneer1 both bars were all white. There was nothing no one could have done to turn me gay. This is one reason why your conspiracy theory hold no water.

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Are you saying that you see 'drunk Caucasian men' fight each other and Caucasian blood relatives, like White brothers fight each other?﻿

??????I don't understand your question.
But as far as the rampant homosexuality among the Black population of Florida..........
Are you saying that homosexuality is huge among the Black CARRIBEAN population of Florida or among the Black population in general?

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...man for the right amount of many I'm sure you could make anyone -- even you -- gay at least for an hour LOL!

Sheeeeeeyyit.....

I'm a straight brother and never had a gay fantasy in my life but for 10 million (tax free) dolllars I'd put a dress and lipstick on!

Pay me millions more and I'll even agree to it becoming syndicated so you can see RE-RUNS of the shit on TV One years from now...lol.

People can't figure out why so many Black men in Hollywood would wear dresses, but if you know who you are and what you like you don't give a DAMN what other's may think as long as you can get paid and then take that damn dress off, hop in your Bentley and scoop up who you REALLY want for the night.

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Are you saying that homosexuality is huge among the Black CARRIBEAN population of Florida or among the Black population in general?

@Pioneer1 I'm not sure. I have not been in Florida long enough to know for sure. I think it is significant but, I have heard comments more than actually seeing a lot. I see people holding hands and walking around that appear to be homosexuals, but I really don't look that much. I just remember hearing a lot about Florida when I was young. But @Troy is right, I believe. What big city is not like Florida?

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I see people holding hands and walking around that appear to be homosexuals, but I really don't look that much

I remember the first time I saw East Asian women walking around holding hands and walking arm in arm locked tight against eachother.....I thought they were in lesbian relationships. But after seeing more and more of it I realize it was just a cultural habit.

Infact, in some Middle Eastern nations MEN hold hands with eachother as they walk and talk together.

You bring back to mind too, how it was here, in America though, when I was young. I was normal for kids to hold hands. I remember that me and my sister always did that. When we had to walk to our elementary school in Pennsylvania and as it was snowing, we would take turns leading each other because it was difficult to open our eyes with the snow hitting us in the face. So, we held hands and took turns, and then we held hands all the time when we walked. Brothers and sisters, brothers and brothers would hold hands and walk.

I remember my best friend and I, in 3rd grade, in Charleston, SC, would always hold hands. And, other little girls would do this while playing at recess on the play ground and walking home after school. And, it was normal to see older kids still do this in the past.

But, perhaps because of how America has permeated our societies with homosexuality and such, I guess, this kind of 'body language' has been altered to have different connotations and is not as common as it was in the past. But yes, as you said, it is still a normal practice to see East Indian woman walking and holding hands.

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Not sure what happened before my generation but even as a child I don't remember little boys ever holding hand with eachother. I remember one time back when I was 7 or 8 I was playing with a group of boys and while we were playing one of the boys grabbed my hand and tried to hold it while we were walking looking for the others. Although there was no anger or disgust at him I had an immediate reaction to jerk my had away because of how akward it felt even at that young age and he just looked at me with a nervous grin and moved on. Later on I notice he would stare at other boys in the eyes an extra few seconds longer than usual while playing with them and a few years later we find out.....you guessed it, LOL.